I will make you whole again
by shortcircuitify
Summary: DAKM: Solas messes up the entire world, goes back in time, and woos Lavellan like she deserves.


**\- I will make you whole again -**

The ground rumbles beneath his feet, the earth swirling in patterns not meant for solid ground. Blood runs in rivulets down his arms, hands, coating him in red while the demons converge on him, surrounded him in their own fury. Lust and rage and sloth all coalesce, their forms raging and changing, the sky a sickly green. Fen'Harel cannot recognize the world around him, his elven brethren strewed across the once-ground, silent and still.

Ellana in his arms, unmoving, her golden eyes glassy and cold.

She ran after him, stupid girl, into the swollen underbelly of the world, its tendrils killing all in its path. Its creator at its center, poised and hoping, watching as the world deformed and demented until it was a crude patchwork of what he would have once called his Kingdom.

He buries his nose against her neck, a small whimper escaping her lips. He tastes the salt of his tears, running thick and hot into her skin, his sobs muffled and wounded.

His heart lay shattered in his chest, tight and broken and when he feels her trying to shift, her finger glancing over his chest he can do nothing but take her hand in his own, kissing her fingers as her eyelids grow heavy, hiding her eyes from sight.

He feels the call of his once-friend spirits around him, tempting and teasing and he feels sick in his stomach, feels the pull of Mythal tight in his gut.

 _Forgive me, Mythal. I have made a mistake._

He feels the energy of the Veil surround him, pull in tight to him, the tears blurring his vision as he cries out over the energy pulling through him, dragging him down into himself.

 _Forgive me, Mythal. For I cannot live without her._

…

 **/**

Varric fights at his side, crossbow slicing through the demons of the Fade surrounding them. He shifts magick into ice, stopping them in their tracks.

She comes in a flurry of fire and lightning and storms, striking down her opponents with a flushed face and bright eyes.

She is wonderful – majestic, in all of her shy and timid glory. Just as he remembered, and this time he knows of the future he once imagined. He knows the destruction he will bring upon the world.

He will not let it happen again. _For her_.

So when she introduces herself, he does not snide over hedge mages. He smiles at her; tells her he is Solas. Sees the small smile she gives him in return, the red hinting at her cheeks.

When she speaks to him in the quiet moments of Haven, he tells her of the ancient elves, and listens patiently when she speaks of the Dalish, brings her melted chocolate (her favorite) for the cool nights in the mountains.

He will show her ancient magick under the stars, the brilliance of the Veil in the safety of its barriers, let it tickle her cheeks and make her giggle. And _oh,_ her smiles between Corypheus and the killing and his slowly fading magick makes everything worth it.

The sun running through the gold of her hair surrounds her in a halo, and if once upon a time they were gods in their own right he knows he would not be worthy of her. Is not worthy of her now, but strokes her arm and whispers in her ear soothing words because she allows him.

The guilt eats at his stomach, but when she blinks with her long lashes and coyly takes his hand in hers, there is nothing on his mind but kissing the pad of her thumb, each of her fingers.

His heart beats a rapid tattoo in his chest when Haven falls, and he knows – _knows_ – she will live but his breath catches in his throat nonetheless as she shudders through the snow, holding her close as the Inquisition chants around her in a rhythm he is slowly becoming accustomed to.

He holds her hand, delicate, oh so delicate because any moment she may break beneath his destructive touch, and leads her to Skyhold.

He leaves her flowers in her quarters, ones from the Free Marches to remind her of home - out in the open wilderness and green plains. Leads her to secret corners outside of Skyhold's walls where she can run free, pretend she is back in the forest, naked and wild beneath the leaves of the trees.

(She whispers in the dead of night that she will bring him there, one day, to show him the magnificence of the ocean, and he feels his chest tighten in anticipation.)

When he kisses her cheek she blushes, her breathing heavy, and when he pulls away and she grabs at his tunic and draws him close he breaths her in, takes her face in his palms and nips at her lips, explores her with his tongue until she is tucked coyly into his chest and he is lost for breath.

He massages her neck and ears – sensitive to the touch – when her clan is killed, her family destroyed and she needs him to cling to. Tears prick his eyes, too, because once upon a time she was dead in his arms and he refuses to think about it again. Refuses to let her swallow herself in misery by herself.

She will hurt, long and hard and Adamant and Orlais will eat her whole – the mark on her arm spreading and breaking - but every night she will crawl into his willing arms, and he knows it is all worth it. He will stroke her back, touch her with his hands and fingers and tongue until she is begging and whimpering in pleasure and he cannot pull himself away from her gravity.

All she need do is ask and he will be there. All she need do is smile and he will smile too, tentative and old, aching against his face, but he will smile because it makes the dimples in her cheeks that much deeper when he does.

He feels the earth aging him, the ageless slumber taking its toll on his sore muscles and bones, and he finds himself praying to Mythal that he can grow old with Ellana at his side.

He thinks he hears her giggles in the wind.

And when Corypheus is defeated he is there for the celebration, for the sunrise awakening over the mountain as Ellana leans into his embrace, his breath whishing over the sensitive tip of her ear. Tracing her Vallaslin, the delicate tree over her cheeks. She shivers pleasantly.

Night blankets Skyhold, his grip on her waist tight, as if worried she will disappear, when he whispers about his godhood, the orb that he so willingly gave to their enemy. His plan to break the world's bones and reshape them to his own. He buries himself into her stomach, tears leaking from his eyes, worried of her rejection, for it will all be for naught.

And her eyes are wide, staring at him, drawing in on herself slightly and he wants to cry out, "Will you leave, then? Break the Veil?"

"No," he whispers, his voice hoarse and thick.

She wraps him in her arms, holding him close.

"I do not deserve this mercy."

She kisses his nose, and he thinks she is too sweet for this world.

"I love you."

She still loses her arm, but he kisses it every evening when they go to sleep. And when the Inquisition disbands they go to the Emerald Graves, sleep under the stars, and run free within the grassy leaves and trees surrounding them.

They are naked and free, and when Abelas sees Fen'Harel running through his plains with a smile plastered on his face, age lines slowly making themselves known at the corners of his mouth, he feels the world an odd and uncomfortable place.

…

 **/**

Mythal's eyes are old, knowledgeable and twinkling.

"So?"

Fen'Harel tries to contain the small smile gracing his lips, but he has never been one for following what is expected of him, "I think it was worth it."

"All of it?" He can see the hesitation in her eyes.

He takes a deep breath, "Yes, all of it."

A smile overtakes her own face, and for a moment he sees the Goddess who so long ago took mercy upon him, "I am glad to hear it."

He watches as the magick swirls around her, leaves her body and slowly tendrils into the air. Before it leaves into the sky, leaving behind a legacy not meant to resurface, he takes her in his arms, hugging his closest friend to his chest.

"Thank you," he whispers in her ear, and he sees a delicate smile as her body turns to stone.


End file.
